


Stable Boy

by orithea



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Comeplay, Consent Issues, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 12:09:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orithea/pseuds/orithea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knew the Holmes boys were trouble. There were all sorts of tales from the servants leaving the Holmes manor—usually young men, though there was a shy, young girl or two in their midst—about the sort of sordid things those two got up to. Most people regarded them as lies spread by disgruntled former employees, though some thought there must be a grain of truth behind them. Especially the tales about that strange youngest boy, Sherlock; it didn't take much work to convince anyone that he was involved in all sorts of nasty things.</p><p>They were wrong, of course. Because Mycroft was truly the more depraved of the two, and the rumours hardly encompassed the extent of their affairs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stable Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daleked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daleked/gifts).



> Warning: ages are unspecified, though Sherlock is referred to as a teenager. Up to you whether that's above or below age of consent. Speaking of consent: it gets hazy. If anything less than enthusiastic "YES!"es given all around before anything starts is triggering and unpleasant, you may want to skip this.
> 
> Basically, Thea prompted me with "John is the stable boy" and I typed out 3,000 words of PWP on my phone in a couple of hours. My thumbs hurt.

Everyone knew the Holmes boys were trouble. There were all sorts of tales from the servants leaving the Holmes manor—usually young men, though there was a shy, young girl or two in their midst—about the sort of sordid things those two got up to. Most people regarded them as lies spread by disgruntled former employees, though some thought there must be a grain of truth behind them. Especially the tales about that strange youngest boy, Sherlock; it didn't take much work to convince anyone that he was involved in all sorts of nasty things.

They were wrong, of course. Because Mycroft was truly the  more depraved of the two, and the rumours hardly encompassed the extent of their affairs.

John Watson was not one to listen to rumours, at any rate, and took the stable boy job for the Holmeses despite all that he had heard about the family since moving to the village. After a month on the job, he was entirely convinced that the pair were harmless, if not a little odd. Mycroft was haughty but polite, and Sherlock—

Sherlock was a strange one. Not exactly shy, but he didn't say much. And John was well aware of those eyes of his watching John's every move as he brushed down their sweaty horses after Mycroft and Sherlock returned from their afternoon ride. Mycroft had left and Sherlock pretended to follow, but John noticed him slipping back into the stables, thinking he was well-hidden while he watched. It was sort of endearing, really. Sweet, even. Sherlock was still a gangly teenager and it seemed to John that the boy might have a bit of a crush that he didn't know how to handle.

'My brother seems to find you fascinating.'

John startled, dropping the brush that he was holding. He'd been so focused on Sherlock that he hasn't heard Mycroft's approach at all.

'Sorry!' John said and collected himself. 'You gave me a bit of a fright. Sir.'

'Quite all right,' Mycroft replied, flashing one of his too-smooth smiles, one that looked far more rehearsed than genuine. 'It is entirely my fault for sneaking up on you whilst you were so hard at work, John—you don't mind if I call you, John, do you?'

John shook his head. 'Course not, perfectly fine, Mister Holmes.'

'Call me Mycroft, please.' He stepped closer into John's personal space. 'No need for us to be quite so formal, is there?'

'If you say so, sir—Mycroft.' John chuckled nervously at his mistake. 'I mean, I do work for you.'

'Yes,' Mycroft said, and one of his long fingers darted out to trace the neckline of John's uniform shirt. 'Funny you should mention that. Do you think that your job entails listening to what I ask of you?'

'A—a—ah,' John stammered, then gulped to regain his composure. 'I suppose so? To a point?'

'What if I asked you to entertain the fact that my brother has taken a shine to you? Has a bit of a crush, Sherlock does.' Mycroft sneered in the direction of his brother, who was no longer hiding but still standing some distance away.

John darted a look between them. 'I'd think that was inappropriate.'

'Were inappropriate,' Sherlock piped up.

'Pardon?' John asked.

Sherlock sighed. 'You'd think that were inappropriate, not was. You've had an education—I can tell. Use it.'

John looked back towards Mycroft, who spread his hands apologetically. 'He has his own funny ways of showing it.'

'I see,' John said, and looked between them again. Considered and licked his lips thoughtfully. 'Are you trying to do something to get me sacked?'

'Wouldn't dream of it,' Mycroft said. 'Just trying to do a favor to yourself and to my little brother. I have noticed you watching him right back, of course.'

John didn't bother to deny it. He knew the brothers saw everything; he'd seen them talking about it together, laughing about the secrets they'd gleaned just from looking at the villagers whilst out on their evening ride.

'Well?' Sherlock prompted.

'Well what?' John said, deciding to play it safe.

'Despite the horrible things you might have heard about us,' Mycroft wore a look of false hurt, 'we don't force anyone to do anything. Sherlock simply wishes to know if you're agreeable to his advances, though he's too uncultured and impatient to ask properly. So. Are you?'

John stared for a moment, at Sherlock's long, lean limbs enclosed in riding breeches, the tight shirt open at his throat, his dark tousled curls, and the lush curve of his lips. He nodded, not trusting his own voice.

Sherlock closed the distance between them almost instantly, and pulled John tight against him. Their lips pressed together and Sherlock kissed him hungrily. John had never been kissed like this before, like being consumed. It was—

Sherlock slipped a thigh between John's and was suddenly pressing up into John's erection, that had come on so fast that John felt he ought to be dizzy.

—It was incredible.

And then Sherlock was leading him, walking them backwards towards the bales of hay just outside the stables, where they would be hidden from the rest of the grounds, and John willingly let himself be led. His hands were on Sherlock's waist and clutching at him like they were his anchor to the world. When Sherlock tried to pull away, presumably to maneuver them with less trouble, John made a high and desperate noise of resistance, so that in the end they went tumbling down into the soft grass still entwined.

John was on his back with Sherlock on top of him, rutting together through their clothes, and John had completely forgotten about Mycroft's presence at all until his voice was there, right by his ear.

'Don't let him come to quickly, Sherlock. You don't want to end our fun too soon.'

John gasped and jerked away from Sherlock's kiss. 'Wait,' he said, sounding dazed. 'Mycroft you aren't—'

'I'm not what?' Mycroft's voice held a hint if warning.

'This is weird,' John protested.

'Not unless you make it weird,' Sherlock said sullenly. Then, apparently dissatisfied with the lack if kissing, turned his attentions to sucking bruises along John's neck.

'We do everything together,' Mycroft explained. He settled himself down onto the grass next to John and leaned in close. 'You certainly didn't think I'd let him have you all to himself, did you?'

'And if I say no?'

John could feel Mycroft's grin against the ticklish shell of his ear. 'Will you, though?' Mycroft's hand stroked over John's side and threatened to slip between where John and Sherlock were still tightly pressed together.

'You—you're brothers!'

'Obviously, but it's not as though I'll be fucking _him_ ,' Sherlock said haughtily. 'So it hardly matters.'

Any protests John might have continued with were wiped from his mind at that, because he could feel Sherlock's erection pressed against him and it felt lovely—thick and hot and hard—and he'd thought that they'd perhaps have a quick wank together like this, but now Sherlock was offering _that_...

John would never just come right out and admit it, but between dalliances with several women and men he'd found that he rather enjoyed being fucked, being filled with a nice, fat cock in his arse. Not enough to seek it out, but if there was a gorgeous, if slightly depraved, boy just offering it up, John was hardly going to say no.

'If you're fucking me, Mycroft will be..?'

'Not doing anything you don't want me to do,' Mycroft supplied smoothly.

'That's settled, then,' Sherlock said. 'Trousers off.'

'Surely you can manage more sweet talk than that,' Mycroft tutted, but John was already lifting his hips to give Sherlock room to tug them down. Sherlock smiled smugly.

'You don't have to talk if you know what else to do with your mouth, Mycroft,' Sherlock snapped. Clearly a long point of contention between them; John was willing to believe now the stories about the two brothers seducing servants as they pleased.

To prove his point, as soon as John's trousers were down around his knees, Sherlock moved between his parted thighs and took the already slick head of John's cock into his mouth.

'You were meant to have your lips around a cock,' Mycroft said fondly, and John let out a strangled groan.

Sherlock chuckled deeply, sending the oddest sensation jolting through John at the vibration, and pulled off John with a swirl of his tongue and a wet pop. 'You make him squeamish when you say things like that. _Brother dear_.'

In truth, John was beyond caring. He whined and tangled his fingers into Sherlock's curls.

'Lovely sight as it is, it hardly seems necessary. Look at him. He's been ready to be fucked since you said it.' Mycroft reached down to stroke John's cock himself. Sherlock made a frustrated noise and batted Mycroft's hand away to be replaced with his own.

'I like to be sure they're relaxed,' Sherlock said. 'It makes everything go much more smoothly.'

'No, you just like having pricks in your mouth. This makes it go smoothly.' Mycroft tossed Sherlock a small tube from his pocket.

'Both are good,' John said, and was pleased to find both Holmeses smirking down at him.

'I do like this one,' Sherlock said. He squeezed a bit of the lubricant onto one finger and brought it down to circle John's entrance lightly, tracing patterns over the sensitive skin but not quite pressing in. 'We should keep him. John.'

Upon hearing his name, John, who'd thrown his head back and squeezed his eyes shut from the way that Sherlock was still slowly working his cock with his hand whilst preparing his hole, opened his eyes and tried to focus. 'Yes?' he panted.

'How would you like to be fucked?'

'Hard,' John answered, and tilted his hips so that Sherlock's finger finally slipped inside him.

Sherlock and Mycroft laughed together, indulgently.

'That can easily be done,' Mycroft said, 'but I believe Sherlock was asking your preference in positioning.'

'From behind,' John answered quickly.

'Mmm,' Sherlock said, pressing a second finger in alongside the first. John hissed at the stretch. 'It does sound like he wants it rough.'

There was a bit of shame in John at feeling this way, of wanting to be used. Not enough to make him want to stop, but enough that Sherlock seemed to have picked up on the dirty thrill it sent through John to have it voiced.

John nodded and didn't meet their eyes. 'Yeah.'

Sherlock let go of John's erection, after rubbing his thumb through the precome gathered on the slit to make John gasp, and patted his inner thigh. 'On your knees, then.' He left his fingers inside John, rocking against his inner muscles, until John began turn himself into position. John kicked his trousers off the rest of the way, and heard the rustle of cloth as Sherlock freed himself from his own.

'Have you stretched him enough?' Mycroft asked, and John's face burned with shame and arousal because he just knew Mycroft was staring at his arsehole now, watching the involuntary clenching of it as he moved. 'You are quite thick.'

'He said he wanted rough,' Sherlock said. He pressed the tip of his cock against John then, rubbing and teasing against his rim. 'Isn't that right, John?'

'Please,' John said, then cried out as Sherlock pushed inside. 'Fuck,' John hissed. Sherlock stretched him open in quick thrusts, each one lengthening until he was fully seated inside after several strokes.

'How is that? You like being fucked open on my brother's cock?' Mycroft was kneeling in front of him now, crooning by his ear to be heard over the combined panting breaths of Sherlock and John.

'Yes,' John gasped out. 'I fucking love it.' The initial sting had transmuted itself into that strange sensation that walked the line between pleasure and pain. It was hard for John to separate the feeling, the pleasure itself, from what was causing it—that he was being fucked, invaded by a cock in him, filled up by this boy who looked hardly stronger than him but whose fingers were sure to leave marks on his hips and make sure that he still felt this tomorrow, every time he moved.

Sherlock was mostly silent in concentration, but Mycroft picked up talking for him. 'I bet he feels so good inside you. I wouldn't know; he won't fuck me. This is all I have, sharing you with him like this. Let me hear how much you love it.' John began to keen as Sherlock rubbed the head of his cock over John's prostate with every long stroke, and Mycroft traced his thumb over John's bottom lip as his mouth fell open with pleasure.

'I'm close,' Sherlock warned. John began to reach for his own cock, because as good as this was, he couldn't come untouched, but Mycroft grabbed his wrists and stopped him.

'Not yet,' Mycroft growled, and John was too frustrated and overstimulated to put up much of a fight to have his hands released.

Then John could feel it, the hot rush as Sherlock's come flooded inside him in pulses. John whined, rolled his hips, and tried anything to push himself over the edge as well, to no avail. He collapsed as Sherlock pulled out of him, fell to his belly and ground against the balled up fabric of his trousers with frustration.

'Don't be cruel, Mycroft,' Sherlock said. He stroked his hands down John's sweaty and trembling thighs.

'I simply thought I would give him a choice,' Mycroft said haughtily. 'He could come now—I'd bring him off with my hand, easily enough—or I could fuck him as well. Let him come clenching around something, having me nudging inside him.'

'You could have let me come just then,' John accused.

'No,' Mycroft said, and his smile took on a wicked glint. 'I really couldn't have.'

'You were planning this all along,' John said. 'So I'd agree to fuck you too.'

'I told you that we do everything together. Mummy simply emphasised the point if sharing _so well_ , you see.'

John considered his options. It wasn't as though he entirely objected to the idea of Mycroft—he'd found him alluring as well, just not as much as his brother. Were it not for Sherlock, he'd probably have been interested in Mycroft from the start. He did resist feeling cheated, having the decision taken away from him.

'Please,' Sherlock said, and now he was stroking his hands through John's hair, looking at him imploringly. 'For me? I do like to be sure he's taken care of as well.'

The two of them were absolute manipulative bastards, and John would have been far more angry if this weren't somehow exactly what he wanted as well. Both of them—he could only imagine the trouble they could get into together. This could be only the start.

'Yes,' John said. 'Yes, c'mon.'

Mycroft spread out over John's back whilst he was still flat on his belly, nudged John's thighs open under him, and slipped easily inside.

'You're so open,' Mycroft groaned. 'So slick, I can feel Sherlock's come inside you.'

John pushed back against him. 'You're going to fill me up too, just like he did. Faster. Do it.' Mycroft's thrusts inside him were slow and smooth, all pleasure this time, and it was making John absolutely desperate to come.

'Don't you dare finish without me,' John warned. In this position he could only feel his prick straining underneath him as Mycroft sped up, but there was no room for him to reach himself. 'If you leave me wanting, I'll—'

John cut off his sentence with a strangled gasp as Mycroft wrapped an arm around him and hauled him backwards, cock still firmly inside him, until Mycroft was kneeling with John's thighs splayed across his lap, pressed chest to back together.

'I keep my word,' Mycroft said against John's neck. 'You're going to come and make me come when you do.' He nipped John hard enough to earn a yelp.

And then Mycroft's thrusts slowed because Sherlock was  bent low in front of them, hands held steady at John's hips, and he swallowed John down again.

The tight, wet heat of Sherlock's mouth and the steady rocking of Mycroft inside him were too much for John. He felt electric, like every nerve ending was alight, and when he came, prick shoved deep down Sherlock's throat, John was sure his scream could probably be heard all the way to the manor.

Mycroft sighed and whispered against him as John came and squeezed around him, making Mycroft shoot inside him as well. In his orgasmic haze, John could hardly make out Mycroft's words beyond 'filthy' and 'beautiful', and John wasn't entirely sure if they were meant for him or Sherlock.

Sherlock looked quite proud of himself as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'You are an exceptionally good fuck,' he told John, and pulled him into a sloppy kiss. 'Now let me see.'

That was directed towards Mycroft, who began to ease John off his lap. John was feeling very compliant (and very weak in the knees) and allowed Sherlock and Mycroft to maneuver him onto his belly once more. Sherlock moved between John's legs and parted his cheeks.

'Look at the mess we both made,' Sherlock said cheerfully, dipping a finger into John's entrance to watch the come leak out around it.

'Don't be indecent,' Mycroft chided.

John snorted. 'As though either of you are at all fit to judge what's decent.' 

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed, so feel free to point out glaring errors.


End file.
